If you've ever wondered
what it'd be like
to be touched by an angel,
you need only touch yourself

there's green all throughout
the silver droplets,
coiling about the warmth
of powder-blues and roaring magentas.

there's green all throughout
the golden threads,
winding around the jubilee
of cream-whites and vibrant citrines.

there's green all throughout
the copper clays,
swirling between the renewal
of xantic petals and extatic lilacs.

there's green all throughout
the joyous weeping
of spring.

I need the rain.

Hard,
broken,
dessicated limbs hang
low and heavy
like twin pendulums
of shattered lead.

I need the storm

Cold,
cracking,
drained roots coil
notted and gnarled
like a cage
of sun bleached bone.

I need the flood.

Dark,
engulfing,
suffocated leaves wither
rusted and dying
like an endlessness
of time-ground sand.

I need the void.

to the friend, the stargazer
do you still write poetry?
do you still scribble your haikus
with bravery and flare?

I have come back to the homeland
but I did not see you there
when you used to be the constant
that would pop up in my head

I guess we all decided to travel
beyond the calming plains
out there in the open
throwing writing to the wind

I have lost my little sparkle
matches are all that's left
I might've dropped the candle
that my poetry has built

If you see this, dear friend
I hope you write again
I would love to see your haikus
in this lovely little page

I let the sparkle float the air
surrounded yellow, oh so, frail
for it, I could reminisce
for she is, my Everest

I have forgotten how to write,
nothing came to empty mind
darkness always made me rhyme
grief, the anger, and, of spite

but, she, my ever-rest
took me off the scary edge
led me to secure-ity
against all my diverse-ity

Wordplays are beyond me
[create-TV-tea]
but I had it, and it is
so I go back without the rest
and pause,
period,
leave.

Spent the last few years
Living in disarray,

Always chasing safety,
Hoping I'd make it someday.

But safety only
Goes so far,

When I'm always
Going to war
With myself

And all I leave are
Scars.

Stuck in a dreamscape
Battlefield that makes it
Hard to go to sleep.

Post-traumatic stress
And nightmares eating me
For days,

Sometimes,
I just want to scream
And disappear for days.

Some days, I wonder,
Is there an end to
This storm?

Is there a better way to cope
Or will I have to suffer
A little more?

The slow inexorable press of time
The unrelenting caress of passing days
Grinds and grinds away at my soul
Everyday, every hour and every second
A never ending torture of existence, of living
Yet, there is no physical pain
No mental anguish nor emotional strife
There is only the cold seeping chill of an empty life,
In the yawning expanse of time, a bleak future beckons
Time grinds and grinds away at my soul

I have lost so much yet I remain whole
Only just
My emotions flicker in and out, barely felt
Blood rushes through my veins,
I can no longer hear its strains
The world, once vibrant has lost its color
Everything is now dull, drab and gray
Yet in fleeting moments everyday,
As I breathe in, the world resets
Everything seems right
I am still whole and thats okay
And time still grinds away at my soul.

"Everyday must feel like a Holiday"They say,
Around me, everyone laughs
And loves
And lives
At the stroke of the hour, I die alittle within
Bit and pieces of me fall into the abyss
Never to be seen, never to return
They don't see the parts that are gone
Neither do I
I know that I am whole but only in body
Time still grinds away at my soul


I feel the weight of time more keenly than ever
Jobless, hopeless, useless
In this valley of disappointment that I reside
Every moment is torment when hope has died
Time is not cruel but it is not kind
And time never stops
God, time just never stops
Not for them and not for me
Forward it marches on,
Pitiless and unyielding from dusk till dawn
Swept along in its stream, i have no choice
Caught in its relentless roll
I only wish it could be gentle with me
But time still grinds away at my weary soul

Three dead pigeons came to mourn
they hung around from dusk till dawn
and knowing I was gravely ill
stayed perched upon my window sill
then when it looked like I might stay
they clicked their beaks and flew away

Sheep don't know
The meaning of the word
Rules.

They know only the barking of the dog
And the howl of the wolf.

when the wind stops blowing,
and the trees still,
and the birds pause their tunes...

when you can feel the sun's golden warmth on your skin,
and you notice the faint floral scented air that surrounds you,
when you notice that the eery beauty of the earth is deafening...

you are grateful for the small things